


we let our battles choose us

by wariangle



Category: Spartacus Series (TV), Spartacus: War of the Damned
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Extended Scene, F/F, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-19
Updated: 2014-06-19
Packaged: 2018-02-05 08:57:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1812685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wariangle/pseuds/wariangle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Crixus and Naevia lead half the army away to make attempt on Rome, Saxa remains behind. This is why.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we let our battles choose us

**Author's Note:**

> Slight AU where Gannicus and Saxa was fuckbuddies and nothing else because Gannicus' entire storyarc was one big fucking fanservice for the dude-fans and I refuse to contend with that.

The cold of the storm is merciless, cutting into and lodging within the very bone, and so when Saxa notices the the dark-haired woman she kissed at the gate of Sinuessa in what feels like another life shuddering in this frozen hell, she nears her with a blanket held up in silent question. The woman - Belesa her name is, she later tells Saxa through chattering teeth - accepts and eagerly lets Saxa sweep her into the blanket, allowing them to share what little warmth is left in their skin.

After the clammy heat of the lower regions of Rome, the sudden winter cold is a stinging reminder of the home Saxa was stolen from, and she quickly grows morose and restless as memories of days long lost and past fill her head. Belesa's body is a contradiction against her side - made up of sharp angles and bones after too long without enough food and a lifetime of needing to be hard in the face of life as a slave, but soft where her breast and her thigh press against Saxa and in the shape of her mouth which Saxa cannot help but want to taste anew. It has been long since she has had a woman near like this - a lingering embrace rather than a frenzied fuck.

The last few days up on the ridge have been quiet and Saxa is twitching with need for something to happen. She is a bow-string pulled taut, always on the edge of snapping - sitting still is not for her. Gannicus disappeared before she could get his cock inside of her and as a result her body is thrumming in the face of the storm - whether for a quick fight or a fuck does not matter.

And so when the storm is dying out and the tent slowly empties around them and Belesa remains pressed up against her beneath the blanket, Saxa kisses her deeply and with unmistakable purpose.

The brand on Belesa's chest is a slash of black on her skin and Saxa presses her mouth against it, anger blooming inside at the thought of what the mark symbolizes. But it is quickly buried beneath lust as Saxa cups her hands around Belesa's full breasts and grins as the soft, low noises Belesa makes fill her ears.  
  
Despite the cold and the resulting slowness in their limbs, it is a good fuck, and come morning Saxa leaves the tent with a smile on her lips and Belesa's scent lingering on her skin.

-

Saxa is unsure whether she seeking Belesa out or if it is the other way around, but nevertheless they soon find themselves falling to bed together more nights than not, and eventually begin to share both meals and tent. Saxa does not know if Belesa is merely seeking protection and safety in her arms, but she does know that she enjoys the way their bodies fit together as they lay beneath the canopy on their tent, the sound of Belesa's laughter, and the easy companionship they share. Belesa's heated glances and gentle touches make the long trek through near endless forest feel lighter and Saxa's side is beginning to seem empty when Belesa is elsewhere to be found.

Crassus starts up his small-scaled but ruthless attacks on the furthest flanks of the column and with every sunrise Saxa loosens her blades from her belt and moves back through the mass of moving rebels to be ready when the Romans come. One night, she gains a slash across her arm from the edge of a Roman sword, and while it is no more than a scrap, it bleeds profusely. She cuts a piece of cloth from the dead solider's uniform and ties it carelessly around the wound.

When she returns, Belesa pales and forces her to sit down on the ground to let her unwind the cloth and examine the injury.

“Small wound,” Saxa scoffs, but Belesa ignores her. She cleans the wound carefully and finds a new scrap of garment to tie around it.

“There,” Belesa says and presses her lips against Saxa's skin right above the bandage in a gentle kiss and it causes something to stir within Saxa's heart.

-

Saxa knows how most people regard her. It is seldom someone looks at her and sees anything but a brute of a woman who cares for little else but fighting and fucking. Many are lead to the conclusion that she is not especially perspective, which is far from the truth. Saxa has known it for a long while, the rift in the rebel camp, the lust for vengeance battling against the necessity for the greater good. Spartacus may have had his fill of revenge, but many has not. Many will never have enough. Saxa may have spent but scant weeks in iron, but she will not forgive and in return she will have all the blood and death she can. It is a purpose, at least, and there are worse ones one can have in this life.

-

Belesa sends her a tense glance as Saxa falls back beside her in line, sheathing her bloodied blades.

“Yet another attack?” she asks.

Saxa nods and lets her fingertips pass briefly across Belesa's cheek. “I unharmed,” she says. She grins. “Romans dead.”

“As it should be,” Belesa replies. But days past it excited her like nothing else, Saxa returning from another skirmish with blood and sweat upon her skin and wildness in her eyes, but everyone, including Saxa, are growing increasingly exhausted. While her woman is truly a sight to behold when returned from battle, Belesa's worry has begun to dampen her desire. Instead the sight of Saxa alive and well awakens other emotions - relief, joy, and something else, a dangerous fluttering in her chest.

Even so, she leans back against Saxa and tilts her head to allow for Saxa's mouth to reach her throat as Saxa comes up behind her and fills her hands with her breasts as they halt for the night.

“We have a tent to raise,” Belesa murmurs.

“I mighty warrior,” Saxa retorts. “We steal another's, they take our.” Saxa's hand is already beneath Belesa's dress, thumb rubbing along her cunt and Belesa closes her eyes, Saxa making a gratified sound as she feels Belesa's wetness against her fingers.

They do erect their own tent, but as soon as it is done, Saxa's hands are scrabbling to loosen both her own and Belesa's clothing. Belesa lets herself be guided down onto their sleeping roll, Saxa eagerly covering her tired body with her own.

Belesa has never before bedded a woman like Saxa, has never had anyone put their mouth on her, on her breasts, between her thighs, with that kind of enthusiasm, has never had roughened, battle-hewn hands on her skin, has never had her pleasure attended to so thoroughly. Has never been allowed to want and take.

Belesa tightens her legs around Saxa's hips and swiftly, easily, reverses their positions, until she is above her warrior, moving so she is straddling Saxa's thigh. Putting her own between Saxa's legs, she presses with her knee until she has Saxa gasping from it. In response, Saxa reaches out, hands moving in a caress across Belesa's hips and stomach, causing her skin to pebble in their wake. Grinding her thigh roughly against the wet folds of her cunt, Saxa causes Belesa to moan and her head to fall back, revealing the tense column of her throat.

She feels Saxa's hands drag along her skin, up to her breasts for a feel, before moving downwards again. With her hands planted heavily on her hips, Saxa guides Belesa into a harsh, ruthless rhythm against her thigh and Belesa groans in response to every push.

Saxa lifts herself up to sitting, catching a nipple in her mouth and allowing Belesa to close her arms around her to ground herself against the aching, throbbing pressure spreading from her cunt and every inch of skin branded by Saxa's touch or kiss. She rocks faster, harder against her, moving hurriedly and desperately closer to the precipice.

“Scream,” Saxa murmurs into her ear, breath hot and hurried against the shell of it. “For me, _bärchen_. Want to-” teeth scrape against Belesa's collarbone and hands tighten on her ass “- hear how you feel.”

Belesa tilts Saxa's head back, gazing deeply into her eyes as she pants heavily with every drag of her hips, Saxa's strong thigh moving maddeningly against her. In Thracian tongue she tells her precisely what she feels, how Saxa is the light in this cursed world, how she craves her, body and mind, like air or water. Saxa does not comprehend a word, but it is not possible to misinterpret the loud, rough sound that leaves Belesa as she reaches climax, or the way she, afterward, clings to her as she is attempting to regain breath.

 -

It should be settled and done without thought, Saxa thinks. She knows where her path is leading - to death by enemy sword, be it Roman or otherwise, and battle is her one and only mistress. Even so she hesitates and ponders, wondering why decision is not already made.

She sees Crixus leave Spartacus tent one night and although she does not know what has transpired between the two men, she can make a good guess, and she knows that she does not have much time to choose. Battle beckons and Saxa has never before refused the call. She holds no love for Crixus or Naevia, nor they for her, but Saxa is used to going where she wants to and not where her presence is desired, so that is thing that weighs little consideration.

She is unsure whether she believes in freedom beyond this war. Saxa remembers the stench of her village burning and has seen far too many called kin die and wonders where, but in the arms of death, she could find another home.

-

The taking of the villa and the ensuing celebration provides a thankful quieting of her scattered and contradicting thoughts. Belesa, having spent the last few days quiet and restless, is smiling with cheeks rose-colored from wine. She undresses, careless of the festive crowed around, and steps into the pool, begging Saxa to join her. Saxa laughs and concedes by sitting down on the edge of it, dipping her legs in and bending down to kiss Belesa.

Belesa's arms lock around her waist and before Saxa is given the chance to react, Belesa has dragged her down into the pool. She laughs in victory as Saxa is submerged for a brief moment and swallows a mouthful of water. She sputters and grasps hold of Belesa's shoulders to keep upright and Belesa kisses her cheek as way of apology.

“It is not so hard, toppling you. And I thought you undefeated warrior,” Belesa teases and Saxa scowls at her, strands of blonde hair plastered against her face.

“Succumbing to the treachery of a beautiful woman is never a defeat,” an amused voice says and Saxa turns to look. Gannicus stands near the pool, refilling two cups with drink and smiling widely and drunkenly at them. Belesa sends him a cold glance across Saxa's shoulder.

“He right,” Saxa tells Belesa as she turns back to face her again. “You cause weakness.” Her hand goes to Belesa's face, stroking her damp hair away. “Weakness I not mind,” she whispers, feeling soft and tender from drink, and kisses her gently.

And Belesa returns the kiss and hold on to her and thinks desperately, _Do not go where I cannot follow_.

- 

Despite last night being late and heavy with drink, Belesa wakes with first light. She dresses quickly, fingers lingering but a brief moment on the bruises left on her thigh by Saxa's mouth, and leaves the villa, head and body aching. Rebels are milling around, packing swords and bows and spears, loud voices calling out orders. What Belesa seeks is nowhere to be found. She wonders if perhaps Saxa is already gone, absent words of farewell.

Belesa wishes it were not so, but she knows that Saxa will follow Crixus. She knows her woman and her heart, and while she does not doubt Saxa's affection for her, Saxa's greatest love will always be for blood and battle. However, she had hoped for a goodbye, a proper end for them. Instead it seems she stands forgotten.

Shyly, she halts Nasir as he passes and asks if he has laid eyes on her lover, but he just shakes his head, evidently lost in pressing thoughts.

Belesa starts as arms wrap around her shoulders from behind and lips lay a kiss against her neck.

"I leave to piss and when return, you gone," Saxa mutters. She yawns. "Morning bright and better spent elsewhere." Teeth bite down on the lobe of Belesa's ear, sending a shiver through her.

She loosens Saxa's arms from around her and turns around, needing a look at her. Her daggers are in her belt as always, but her shoulders are bereft of pauldrons and her feet of sandals.

"You choose to remain?" Belesa asks, confounded, but with joy slowly seeping through the ache of disappointment in her chest. "You do not leave for battle and glory?"

" _Nein_ ," Saxa replies, flippantly, but the look in her eyes betray the weight of her decision. "Not this day."

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi on [tumblr](http://wariangle.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
